Defect: Book 1

By Kallie Grote

Telekinesis? No problem. Trying to stay alive? Problem. BIG problem. It has been sixty-five years since the Genetic War, but the Defects and the Pures are still at odds. The Pure government is on the hunt for the remaining Defects, and no one is safe. With government patrols on the rise in what was once known as Minneapolis, eighteen-year-old Lyla Paxton struggles to find her place in the decrepit world with empty memories about her past. When a visit from a mysterious stranger claims that Lyla is the savior of the Defects, it throws her life into motion. Lyla must leave everything and everyone behind to journey to an unknown place full of unfamiliar faces to prepare for the inevitable war. Lyla's new life is filled with excitement and love, entangled with fear and confusion, and topped off with the unrealistic pressure of trying to remember who she is and where she comes from. Each obstacle pulls Lyla in a different direction, stretching her thin, until she hits her breaking point. Will Lyla save the Defects? Or will she die trying?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644241936

Book preview

Chapter 1

Surviving

Lyla

I tug my cap down lower to cover my face. I can feel a pair of sharp eyes watching me, coming from across the alley from a broken window. Kicking crumpled brick out of my path, I keep my eyes forward and wind my way out of the dark into the brilliant sunlight. Summers are hot here. I guess this place once was Minneapolis, the center hub of a state called Minnesota. But since the war, there is nothing left except for a handful of functioning buildings and decaying relics.

I have read in my scavenged books, from an abandoned school and whatever Celeste gave me to read, that Minnesota was once a part of a very large country called the United States of America. I’m not sure exactly what it is called now. There’s not enough people left to call it anything, really. I have seen a map of what the world used to look like. It was big. But now, the majority of land has sunk down under water or is uninhabitable because of the war. Who knows if there are other people left on the scraps of other continents …

I can sense someone following me, slinking along in the shadows. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my neck and slip down my black T-shirt. I pick up my pace. Even though the heat is unbearable, I like to wear dark colors. They blend in easier to the dark alleys and buildings. I turn my face to my right. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a black shadow move a few paces behind me. My heart quickens as the hairs on my neck rise.

Stay calm. Move.

I begin to weave in and out of back alleys and across streets, trying to lose the follower. Finally, the tension in my back eases. I feel alone again. I work back up to the corner of Washington Avenue and Park Avenue. I slip through the cracked door and into what was once a place called The Old Spaghetti Factory. Whatever spaghetti is.

The remnants of the building show that it was once a beautiful venue. I pause a moment, analyzing my surroundings. Broken crystal chandeliers hang by threads on the ceiling. Old fancy couches have their stuffing toppling out. Probably from the rodents. I make my way through the rubble toward a hole in the floorboards. I listen for a minute to make sure no Pigs are down there. I hear someone laugh, which means the coast is clear. I take a deep breath and jump.

I hit the concrete with the balls of my feet. Straightening, I dust off my clothes. My eyes flicker around the underground room. More people lounging about than normal. Not surprising with the increased patrols. I hear a few people call out a hello as I pass.

Hello, Lyla. A woman in her midfifties smiles over at me.

Hey, Mrs. Jepsen. Mr. Jepsen. I nod at her husband sitting next to her and continue to weave through the tables.

Soon, I begin to relax. It’s safe here for us Defects. Underground. No Pigs. I glance around, looking for a familiar face. Then I hear his voice.

Lyla, over here.

I turn. There they are. Gemma and Blaze. They’re tucked away at a table in the corner of the room. I make my way toward them. Gemma’s dark-blue eyes sparkle in the dim lighting.

Happy birthday, she whispers in my ear as she hugs me. Any luck finding a place to live?

I had spent the last four hours of the day searching for a job and a cheap apartment. The crummy orphanage I am staying at is kicking me out tomorrow. Happy eighteenth birthday to me.

No. Nothing, I say glumly. With the increased patrols, everything seems to have become more difficult. Don’t know what I’m gonna do with the Pigs everywhere.

Blaze tenses at the word Pigs. You’ve had problems with them?

He leans closer to me, sending shivers down my spine. Not the Pigs. But someone was following me today, I murmur.

What? Gem flashes a look toward Blaze. Did you see who it was?

I shake my head and scan the room. A lot of unfamiliar faces down here. I’m sure everyone is searching for a little sanctuary from the streets. It had been a brutal week, with four Defect arrests. An image of the sweet old lady who would give me candy for Will flutters across my vision. The Pigs had found her on Tuesday.

She is probably dead now.

I shake the thought out of my head and turn back to Gemma and Blaze. There seems to be a silent conversation taking place between the two of them. Blaze shakes his head, and Gemma sighs.

Am I missing something here?

Blaze leans back into his chair. It’s nothing.

I know they are a few years older than me, but I have always felt like an equal to them. Now, I sense a tension between the three of us.

What are they keeping from me?

I stare at the two of them, taking in their appearances. Gemma’s pale with short, jet-black hair; thin and lean like all Defects. Her defect is that she can sense when things will happen. The good, the bad, the weather. Blaze’s, on the other hand, is speed. He is incredibly fast. Faster than any person I know, which isn’t many. He’s lightly tanned skin, and his wavy brown hair contrasts with his gentle gray eyes. It was those gray eyes that convinced me to trust him, when I met him out on the streets at thirteen.

He found me hiding in a back alley after running away from the orphanage. He took one look at my tear stained face and vowed to take care of me. I remember gazing into his eyes and seeing how trusting and warm he was. He took my hand and brought me into a small abandoned shop and stayed with me there all day. He talked to me and treated me like an equal, slowly gaining my trust. Once dusk hit, he brought me back to the orphanage. The next day I met him again in the same spot and the next and so on, until it just became a part of what we did. Gemma joined us a few months later, but she didn’t share the same bond with me as Blaze did. When I had no one else to turn to, nowhere else to go, he was always there for me. He made me feel special—safe. He taught me how to smile again. Blaze was my everything, and I clung to him.

Apparently, I did have a home once and a family, but I don’t remember any of that. Everything that happened to me before I was twelve is blank. Empty. No memories of my parents, my house, my old friends. My memory was completely wiped clean. My life, as I know it, started when I woke up in a hospital bed. Miraculously, I had remembered who Will was. His tiny little face had peaked up at me from the side of my bed. I grabbed him into a hug and told him everything would be okay. He cried for our parents, and it broke my heart to tell him I had no idea who they were.

I was told that my family had been in an accident. Both my parents died and left me to fend for myself and little Will. The doctors said I had hit my head, which was why I couldn’t remember anything. They told me I would begin to remember in a couple of days. Well, those days turned into weeks. Then weeks turned into months and months to years. Six years to be exact. Still no memories. Nothing to tell Will about. Just an emptiness.

I feel Blaze move next to me. I turn toward him. His gray eyes gaze intensely at me. They question me, asking me what I am thinking about. I look away and blush. He truly has no idea how much he means to me.

Well, you can live with me for a while. Until you get your own place. Will should be fine at the orphanage for a few more weeks, Gemma says, which pulls me back together.

No. I can’t leave him, I say, firmly. He’s the only family I have left. He depends on me.

Lyla, he’ll be fine. No one is going to hurt him. His defect hasn’t even started to show, has it? presses Gemma.

I sigh and rub my hand on my forehead. Our specialized defects become apparent around age twelve. It happens when we begin to mature and gain our own personalities. They are born within us. Like some sort of passion, but with a deeper pull. Our defects are things we feel that we have to do. Except, I never show mine in front of others. I have never heard of anyone having a defect like mine.

And Will—he still has yet to show me anything about his Defect, and he will be fourteen in a few months. He knows what we are. He knows he is a Defect, and the world is a dangerous place for us, but he also knows that he can trust me and that he can show me his.

Not yet, I mutter.

Maybe he’s a late bloomer. Gemma shrugs.

There is a commotion behind us as someone turns up the television. I glance over. A news clip for this week’s The Informant is playing. The Informant is a way for the gov to keep spreading their brainwashing propaganda to all the people across the country. They use it to update the other Pures about the hunt for Defects and other national events. It is how they spread information across the entire decrepit nation. It always plays at 8:00 p.m. on Saturday nights. The gov rigged all of the cable networks to play it on every TV screen around the country. No matter where you are, no matter how poor you are, there will be a TV on showing it. If the TV is shut off, it is programmed to turn on just for The Informants. Don’t ask me how they do it. It just happens.

Tonight’s clip is showing a Pure teenage boy getting beaten by Pigs. A cold woman’s voice echoes through the speakers. Anyone found assisting Defects will be punished. Defects are evil machines that will destroy us all. They destroyed our nation and should not be trusted. If you know of anyone displaying Defect tendencies report them immediately to local authorities.

Hey! I know that boy, someone gasps.

Isn’t that the boy that passes out food to us?

A buzz of noise erupts. Everyone claiming to have recognized the poor kid. A hulking African American man steps out of the shadows and clicks off the television. Atlas, the unspoken leader of our little Defect group.

That’s enough for one day. He turns and faces all of us. Everyone needs to remain calm. Do not stay out late at night. Keep an eye out for each other. Check in and make sure everyone is safe. We need to stay together during this time. We have been through police sweeps before. This one is no different.

I look around the room. All faces are turned toward Atlas, soaking in his every word. I have never been through a sweep this serious before. This is all new to me.

Remain alert and we’ll all be okay, Atlas says, in a soft voice. Now, head home. Get some rest. Check back tomorrow.

Chairs scrape across the floor as people begin to get up and leave. I look at Blaze and Gemma. Neither looks thrilled.

I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Blaze catches my arm as I turn to leave. His gray eyes filled with concern. Where are you going to go?

Don’t worry about me. Celeste said I could stay another night. I’ll be fine. I need to be with Will.

Gemma grabs me in a hug. Be safe.

You too. I nod, and with that, they’re gone.

I head back out the way I came in. Scale the wall and up through the hole in the floor. I peek through a cracked window to make sure the street is clear. No Pigs. I slip out and make my way back through the debris filled streets. Once I reach the crippling Victorian mansion, the sun is setting. I glance at the old wooden board with peeling paint as I step onto the front porch. The Montgomery Home for Homeless Children. I roll my eyes. I wouldn’t exactly call this place a home, but Celeste means well and tries to make it comfortable. She doesn’t seem to care if the homeless children are Defect or not. Or at least … She can’t tell who is defective.

The minute I step through the door, I almost get smacked in the face by a toy airplane. I duck out of the way as a voice from the top of the stairs yells, Watch it!

Thanks for the heads up, Henry! I yell as he barrels past me.

A young girl walks into the room with her nose in a book. Martha, have you seen Celeste? I ask her. She points up the stairs without taking her eyes off the page.

Thanks.

I take the steps two at a time and head for Celeste’s office. I knock twice before her voice calls from within.

Celeste? I ask, peeking around the massive oak door.

Yes? She doesn’t look up from the budget journal she’s pouring over.

I shift uncomfortably over to the stuffed red chair that sits in front of her desk. Wringing my hands together I ask, Celeste, I was just wondering if you thought about my offer at all?

She glances up over her black glasses that are perched on her nose. Tucking a wisp of her auburn hair back up into the knot, she exhales, takes off the glasses, and leans back into her chair.

This can’t be good.

Yes, I have Lyla. And I am sorry. I just can’t hire you as a maid. I already have two maids, and I can hardly pay them as it is. And I cannot keep you here anymore. You’re another mouth to feed, and you’re eighteen now. You do not need to be taken care of.

I bite my lip and look down at my dusty shoes. There goes my last hope.

Celeste softens. She gets up from her chair and walks around her desk to me. She pats me on the shoulder. Don’t worry about Will. He will be just fine here until you can find a home that suits the two of you.

Her words are somewhat comforting. I stand up again.

Thank you, Celeste. I will be gone in the morning, I say over my shoulder as I leave the room.

I manage to keep myself together until I reach my room in the attic. I quietly close the door behind me. I sink down onto my bed and let the tears fall. I am not a crier, but knowing that there is no way I can keep my baby brother safe with me breaks my heart.

Will means everything to me. What I am going to do?

I lay there for a while letting my tears stream down my face until I hear my door open. I roll over to see Will. His white blond hair shines in the moonlight. He crawls into bed with me, and I pull him into a tight hug. I have always thought he was small, but he doesn’t feel so little anymore. The two of us hardly fit in my bed.

It will be okay, Lyla. I’ll survive without you, he whispers.

I squeeze him tighter and take a deep breath. He’s right. He is thirteen … He can take care of himself. He’s strong enough. I sometimes forget that he’s growing into a young man because I still see him as my tiny six-year-old brother. Plus, he has friends here. He has fared better at this place than I ever did.

We’re survivors, aren’t we, Will? We always seem to figure out how to survive in the worst conditions.

He lies there silent for a moment, probably wondering about our parents. He has learned not to ask me questions about them. He knows I can’t remember much like him. Suddenly he sits up and pushes a small package in my hand. Happy birthday, Lyla.

I smile at him, while carefully unwrapping the brown paper. There is a small wooden frame around my favorite picture of the two of us. I have my arm draped around his tiny shoulders and the other holding up a bucket of strawberries. We look so happy. Will couldn’t have been older than three in the picture, so it was taken before the accident. I don’t know how it’s still with us. I must have had it on me during the accident, and I have clung to it ever since. It reminds me that we did have a life before all of this, and it seemed to be a happy one.

Did you make this? I ask.

He shrugs.

Thank you, Will. It’s wonderful.

Well, I thought you might like a little piece of me with you when you find a new place to live.

He’s trying to act cool, trying to not show how he feels. Typical teenage boy, but I can see through it. There’s still a little kid in there somewhere, who is scared about his big sister leaving him.

I pull him into another hug and kiss the top of his head before pushing him toward the door. It’s late. You need to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, buddy.

Good night, Lyla.

Once the door is shut, I curl back up under my blanket. Clutching the picture to my chest, I start to cry again. There’s a soft tapping at my window. Blaze. I hastily wipe my eyes and unlatch the window.

You all right? he questions me, pulling me into a hug.

I nod and pull away to look at his gray eyes. Why are you here?

Is it a crime to come see you? he laughs.

No, I sigh and sit down on my bed.

Blaze moves to sit next to me. I feel his arm wrap around me.

Talk to me.

I’m afraid, Blaze. When morning comes, I have to leave and have nowhere to go.

Blaze doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes my arm.

Your brother will be all right without you, Ly, he finally says.

I know. I know. He’s not a little kid anymore … But will I be all right without him? I breathe, looking up at Blaze.

He brushes a wisp of hair off my forehead. You’re stronger than you know.

His words warm my heart. Blaze has always believed in me. He’s always been there for me. Blaze stands and moves toward the window.

Get some sleep, okay?

He leans halfway out the window when I lunge and grab his arm.

Blaze? Wait …

He ducks back into my room, eyes filled with concern.

Stay, I whisper, holding on to both his arms.

Blaze stares hard at a spot above my head. I watch the muscles in his jaw flex as he thinks for a moment. He steps away from me and closes the window.

Okay, he says.

I slip under the covers and make room for Blaze next to me. He sits down on top of the covers and pulls me against his chest. His strong arms protectively wrap around me.

Thank you, I whisper, closing my eyes.

Blaze kisses the top of my head. Anything for you.

I feel safe in Blaze’s arms. My breathing evens out and slows, matching the rhythm of Blaze’s chest. I can hear the soft thumping of his heart through his shirt. I hope that with Blaze’s steady presence, the nightmares won’t find me tonight. Peace fills my heart as I drift off to sleep.

Chapter 2

The Savior

Lyla

All I see is red. It is unbelievably hot around me. Smoke burns my nose. My sight is blurry as I stumble around trying to find something. I bump into a hard object, inhaling a lungful of smoke. I fall to the floor in a fit of coughing. I can hear someone moving behind me. Something touches my arm.

Suddenly a scream cuts through the dull roar of the fire. Mom? I lunge forward, toward the sound. The smoke is making me dizzy. I see what looks like a body on the floor.

Mom! I scream. Mom, answer me! Get up!

Lyla? a strained man’s voice calls. Lyla, you need to get out of here.

No, Daddy. I can help you!

I struggle to get closer to him, but my head is spinning, distorting my vision. I hear another voice, then my father’s. They’re muffled. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I feel arms clamp around my waist and start pulling me in the opposite direction.

No! No! I scream, trying to twist away. No! Daddy! Mommy! Please!

I reach out toward them.

It’s okay, Lyla. We love you, I hear my dad say before Crack!

The ceiling begins to cave in. I am shoved forward out of the way. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t catch myself. I smack my head against the ground. Then, everything goes black.

I jolt awake. I am shaking all over and dripping with sweat.

It was just a dream, I breathe. Just a dream.

I lay back against my pillow and take deeps breaths. I realize that Blaze is no longer next to me. He’s gone … like the dream. My heart is still racing. It felt so real. Wiping the sweat away from my eyes, I feel as though I can still smell a hint of smoke.

I get up and start pacing back a forth. Moving always makes me feel better. I have been having this same dream for the last couple of weeks. But it can’t be real. Mom and Dad didn’t die in a burning house … It’s just my subconscious distorting things. But they never did tell me what kind of accident it was.

I glance at the clock. It’s three in the morning. A movement from the window catches my eye. I move toward it, peering out into the darkness. Expecting to see Blaze. Nothing. Must have been the wind or something.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. Probably Will. I pause to listen to them. They’re quick and light, hardly making a sound. Definitely not Will. I don’t recognize these footsteps as they begin to creep closer, but a sense inside me tells me they belong to a Defect. Goosebumps appear all over my arms.

I flick my wrist at the door and the lock turns. I glance over at my dresser. An old silver hand mirror sits on top of it. I focus on it and a second later, it zooms across the room into my hand. I wish it was a baseball bat, but my options are limited right now. If swung hard enough, the hand mirror could do some damage.

The footsteps stop outside my door. The handle jiggles and pauses. I try to control my breathing. Gripping the mirror, I move to the other side of the room. The lock clicks; the door swings open. I hold my breath.

Please be a friend.

A slender woman with curly jet black hair steps in. I’m taken aback for a moment, she seems familiar. She is in a full black leather suit with shin-high boots. She most certainly is a Defect.

She doesn’t even look at me as she stalks across the room to the chair by my window. Her movements remind me of a cat. You can put that down, Lyla. I am not going to hurt you.

I’m stunned. She obviously knows me. I refuse to put the mirror down. Who the hell are you?

She neatly folds her hands in her lap and gazes up at me with sharp green eyes.

Has to be a cat.

You don’t know who I am?

No. I drop the mirror onto my bed and fold my arms across my chest, sensing no immediate danger.

So Gemma and Blaze never told you, she pauses. Well, this should be interesting.

Gemma. Blaze. Is this what their silent conversation was about?

You know Gemma and Blaze? I question her.

Of course I do. I am the one who sent them here to watch over you, she answers matter-of-factly.

I freeze. "You placed them here to watch me? Why? Wait …" I pause, something tugging at my memory.

Pieces fall into place, and I remember the dark catlike movements from the earlier today. Only catching glimpses of someone watching me. The person in the alley, it was her.

Were you following me today? I question.

My name is Prycese. I was a good friend of your parents, and yes, that was me. You were pretty quick to realize it too, she states, simply.

I shrug off her compliment.

Stay focused. You don’t know who she is.

I begin to calculate her body posture, the distance between us and the door, how relaxed she seems to be.

Why are you here? I ask her.

I came to bring you home. You’re needed there, Prycese tells me, and I see the same intensity in her eyes as I had earlier with Blaze.

I’m needed? That can’t be right. Why would anyone need me?

Needed for what? My eyes narrow at her.

I am confused and nervous, but I learned long ago to never show fear to anyone. Fear means death on the streets.

Prycese sighs and lightly touches her fingertips to her forehead. How about you tell me how much you remember from your past. The night your parents were murdered.

That rattles me.

Murdered? What the hell is this about?

I shake my head. My parents died in an accident. They were not murdered, I say, through clenched teeth.

There’s a hint of sadness in Prycese’s eyes.

I am sorry. That was just a false story I had made up for the doctors. I needed to make sure they didn’t suspect you or your brother as being Defects. She looks straight into my eyes. Your parents were killed by the government.

My parents were murdered? By the government? What for? Did they find out they were Defects too?

With that, the guarded walls that have taken years for me to build shatter. The room begins to spin, and I can feel my legs give out from under me. Prycese lunges from the chair and catches me before I hit the ground. She sits me on my bed and stands in front of me.

I think I need to tell you everything. She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. It all started with your father’s parents. They survived the Genetic War and traveled on foot to a place that used to be called Alaska, which had land, water, forests, and mountains. It is the farthest place from the government your grandparents could think of. They met other Defect survivors along the way. Your mother’s parents were some of them. Your grandparents had a following of about fifty people once they reached Alaska.

I